Like You Love Me (Honey Creek 1)

I can’t help but laugh as I recall the afternoon I watched Aaron try to re-create a stunt he’d watched in a movie. Only in his case the cord didn’t recoil—it broke, and he ended up going for a direct dive into the water below.

“That was me,” I tell him.

“You were the one that talked me out of jumping off the cliff.”

“I figured that the odds of your feat weren’t great and that at least the bridge was lower. Your chances at survival were much higher.”

His laugh is loud, filling the building. The two men sitting by the door look at us before going back to their sandwiches.

“You saved my life, man,” Aaron says. “I’ve always wondered who that kid was. Or if you were there at all. I thought I might’ve imagined you. Had a headache for a couple of weeks after that.” He rubs his head absentmindedly.

“I don’t know about saving your life, but I’m glad it worked out okay.”

“Believe it or not, that wasn’t the dumbest thing I ever did,” he says with a laugh. “But that’ll be my legacy, I guess. The guy that did the dumb shit.”

I join him with a laugh of my own.

My food is placed before me. I decline anything else. Tina, according to her name tag, has a quick conversation with Aaron before scurrying back to the counter.

Aaron sits back in his seat and folds his arms over his chest. His face is painted with amusement.

“I heard you went and married Sophie,” he says finally. “Can’t say I blame you.”

My hands stall over my sandwich. He’s being friendly and making conversation. I know this. But something about the smugness in his tone—like he’s thought about Sophie like that—prickles something deep inside me.

“You are correct,” I say, looking him in the eye. “We got married a few days ago.”

“Good for you, man. Good for you.”

If he catches my warning, he doesn’t care. I’m not convinced he does, though, because he reaches his arms over his head and stretches with a loud yawn.

“Okay, well, I better get out of here,” he says, sitting up again. “I’m glad we got to say hello.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

He gets to his feet. “So now that you’re here and basically family, we play poker at my house the first Friday of every month. I live on County Road 500 just north of the turkey barn. The game usually starts around seven and goes until we run out of money. Fifty-dollar buy-in. Bring your own beer.”

“All right,” I say, thrown off a little by the sudden invitation.

“Gonna run. See you next week.” He walks backward toward the door. “Tell Sophie hi for me.”

He flashes me his smile again before disappearing as quickly as he arrived.

I’m not sure what to make of Aaron. He was nice and friendly, if not a little impulsive. I wonder if he always says what he’s thinking or whether he ever ponders it first. By the way he jumped off that bridge, I’m thinking he just goes for it.

I take another bite and wonder if this is what life is like here. Random pop-ins from people just saying hello. Invitations to poker games just because. Sit-down lunches instead of drive-through windows.

Life here goes at a different pace. It crawls instead of barreling down the fast lane. The things here that are important to people—things like community and celebrations—feel completely different from what’s important to the rest of the world.

It’s something that I think I could get used to. Especially if it meant that Sophie would be at my side.

I grin as I take another bite of my sandwich.

Maybe if this job with Montgomery doesn’t work out, it won’t be the end of the world.

Just maybe it’ll all work out.

CHAPTER TWENTY

SOPHIE

Warm water runs over my hands as I give them a final rinse.

Concentrating today proved impossible. I gave up on paperwork an hour after Jobe and Liv left and focused my attention on cleaning the kitchen tile.

Cleaning when stressed is a habit I picked up a long time ago. Apparently, cleaning gives me the feeling of being in control. It relaxes me to have things on the outside look orderly when my insides are chaos.

My bathrooms aren’t complaining, even if my fingers are.

I gaze out the window as I let the water soothe my skin. The sun hovers over the tree line at the back of the property. A handful of birds pitter-patter beneath the tall oak tree that grows at a slant in the middle of the yard. The rope swing that Gramma hung for me when I was a child—and that Jobe repaired last summer—moves lazily in the breeze.

I rinse the sink out before shutting off the water. Grabbing a towel, I dry my hands before looking up.

Oh!

Holden’s reflection in the window startles me, but I catch myself before making a show of it. I continue to dry my hands while keeping my back to him.